#a dark green notebook containing nice thick paper with dandelions on the cover out in the wild…

[eternal-reverie]

I think this notebook would make such a cute dedicated space for khux journaling and fanart 🥺

[smolstrawberrychara]

Klance Au Month - Day 6 - Supernatural

I’m not sure how I got to writing a fluffy kid fic when my initial idea was an estate agent trying to sell a haunted house lmao, but here we go! 

Tiny Little Ghost Hunters

Some kids collect bugs. Keith collects ghosts!

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17683712

Lance swung his legs on the large wooden chair, gulping down the last of his burger. It was warm. And the sun was bright. He’d abandoned his cap ages ago – it made his forehead wet – but that meant his eyes were suffering now. The plates shone like mirrors and he squinted at the picnic table. Didn’t mum say there would be another kid? So why was he stuck here eating with boring adults who talked non-stop about how nice the neighbourhood was and kept asking whether the Kogane’s needed anymore help moving in?

“Lance.” Came a commanding voice beside him. “Eat your tomato.”

“No.” Lance mumbled, folding his arms and frowning down at his knees. Tomatoes were gross. And Veronica was being bossy.

“Lance.” His sister repeated, sending him a glare. “You're being impolite.”

“Don't care.” He said, throwing his head to the side. Who was Veronica to tell him what to do? She was still a kid like him. Five years meant nothing. He hated being the youngest.

There was a growl and then Lance’s arm was yanked violently upwards.

“OW!” He yelped, ripping it back.

“That hurt.” He spat into her face. Then he shuffled to the edge of his seat and pouted down at the grass. “Moronica.”

Veronica let out a harsh gasp. “What did you just say?”

Lance sneered up at her, “I said, Moronica.”

Hah. His sister hated that name. Her nose wrinkled in disgust, anger bright in her eyes. Lance gave a smug wiggle. That’ll show her.

“MOM!”

Argh, she was such a tattle tale.

“Lance is calling me names!”

“Hey! She-!” Lance cried but was quickly interrupted.

“Lance.” His mother snapped, piercing him to the spot with a glare. “Be nice to your sister.”

Lance sank into his shoulders as he waited for the woman to turn back to her conversation. As soon as she did, he shot back to Moronica, tongue out in the universal sign of defiance. Veronica seethed. Before Lance could even flinch, her arm flew out like a whip and his skin screamed as it got caught in a pinch. Lance squeaked, wriggling to the edge of his chair and away from the demon. Sisters were the worst. He hated family barbecues.

Rubbing his arm, Lance looked around the foreign garden. The grass was yellowed, dandelions popping out in random places and there were those sharp weeds that attacked Lance’s feet like bear traps everywhere. He frowned. It was like this whole place was designed to offend him. Lance leaned out further, peering behind him. There were dark green bushes sat around in patches, masking the exposed soil surrounding an apple tree. And underneath it was a boy. He had plasters on his knees, a cut on his face and a red jumper tied around his shoulders like a cape. He was sneaking. Lance could tell by the way his knees were bent close to the ground as he crept forward.

Lance hopped down from his chair.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, peering over his shoulder.

The boy jumped. Whipping around, he threw dark wide eyes at Lance before shoving a sticky palm over his mouth.

“SHUSH!” He half shouted before turning back, leaving his hand there. Lance craned his neck to follow the gaze but the boy didn’t let up. “You’ll scare it away.”

A mess of black hair was blocking Lance’s view and he shook his legs impatiently. What would he scare away? He wanted to push the kid down to see. But if he was telling the truth then Lance might miss whatever the thing was. He decided it best to play along and nodded against the palm. The boy finally released his face and began unscrewing the lid of a large jam jar Lance hadn’t noticed he’d been clutching. Then he turned around, bent his knees, tightened his face in concentration and, like a cat, he leapt forward.

“A-ha!” He yelled, throwing the jar to the dirt. He scooped the lid against the soil, lifting it up to the sound of gravel scattering. Then he turned around, grinning widely. “LOOK!”

Lance gasped. Inside the glass was an orb. A large white circle with a wispy tail – like smoke from a birthday candle. It hit the edges of the jar with sharp clinks and seemed to have shiny black eyes like pebbles freshly born from the sea. Lance pressed his face to the window.

“Woah.” He breathed, steaming up the glass. “What is it?”

“Ghos!” The boy announced proudly, “think it was a moth.”

The ghost of a moth? Lance stared in awe, squishing his nose against the surface. Then the jar pushed hard against him and he found the other boy’s eyes on his, warped like a fish’s. “Wanna see more?”

More? Excitement rushed through Lance like a tidal wave. “Yeah!”

The boy sprang back. Then the coolness was ripped from Lance’s face and the jar getting tucked carefully under a chubby arm. Lance’s hand was caught by another and he was grinning again. “COME ON!”

Then he was running. Cutting straight across the grass, he fell after the boy, arm straining against its socket.

“Keith, honey-”

“Sorry mom, can’t talk. Busy.”

Lance felt his cheeks tighten as the boy, Keith, refused to stop. He tucked his face into his collar, trying to hide the giggles. His heart was racing by the time they hit the back door. Keith let him go to tug at the thick plastic handle and heave it aside. Then his hand was smothered in heat once again and Lance being pulled inside.

The two ran past the looming kitchen counters, ducked under the wooden dining table and whooshed past the cardboard boxes piled high in the lounge. Keith pulled open another door at the end of the hall and suddenly they were plunged into darkness. Lance found himself clattering down hollow steps that creaked with every foot. He clung to Keith’s arm, slowing suddenly. He didn’t like the dark. Or stairs. He held Keith’s arm for support as he carefully began climbing down, scared his foot would fall between the wooden slats. Keith fidgeted ahead of him, jumping down the steps one at a time and bouncing on his toes whilst he waited for Lance to join him. It threw him a little off balance, but Lance refused to let go. He didn’t want to lose his chance at seeing more ghosts. When they eventually got to the bottom, Keith rushed them around the corner. Lance’s breath left his lungs as he caught sight of why. He dropped his arms, jaw falling slack.

In front of him, was a glowing wall full of ghosts. Haphazard shelfs made from broken slices of wood and large pointed nails held up hundreds of jars and bottles filled with the same tadpole-like creatures as they’d found in the garden. Some spun like tornadoes, whipping silver against their tops, whereas others were like fish bobbing in their tanks, softly glowing like lava lamps.

Keith crawled up on the stool in front of the desk, carefully placing his latest find on the table top. Then he tugged over a thick book and flipped over the heavy cover with a thud. Lance wrapped his fingers around the table ledge and pulled himself up, tiptoeing to see the pages. The corners were wrinkled, tears and creases lining the paper. But Lance was too distracted by the content to mind. He let out a gasp as he found each page covered in sketches of the creatures on the shelves, all painted in delicate watercolours. Thick inked writing titled each page and little notes surrounded the pictures like diagrams in a science book.

“Classification.” Keith explained, sliding a smaller notebook out from under a mess of rustling papers. He grabbed a crayon from a pot and stuck a finger to the page.

“This one. Moth.” He said, flicking through the jotter. “Can tell by the genie tail.”

Lance nodded, peering between the book and the rooms latest addition. It did bounce off the glass like how a moth bounced off a lampshade. Keith’s crayon began earnestly scraping against paper, and Lance scooted over to watch. His tongue slipped out of his mouth as he drew letters, writing the date, location and type. Then he looked at Lance.

“What d’ya wanna call it?”

Lance blinked, pointing to his chest. “Me? Name it?”

The boy nodded and Lance sucked in a breath. He got to name the ghost? That was a big responsibility. And a great honour. Pride swelled in Lance’s lungs as he accepted. Wracking his brain for a suitable candidate, he chewed on his thumb, brows furrowing to the point he was sure he could see them. He needed to get this right. And after a moment of painful deliberation, Lance reached an answer.

“Lance two!” He cried. “Because I’m Lance too!”

Keith grinned, eagerly adding the information to his log book. “Perfect.”

Then he looked back up at the shelves above. “You wanna choose a spot for Lance two?”

He got to choose a place for him to live too? Lance couldn’t contain his excitement, bouncing eagerly on the spot. Keith shuffled over on the stool and helped him up. Then they both crawled onto the table to stare up at the jars. There were so many. Some contained single clouds, others multiple dandelion clocks that spun around each other in a game of chase. Keith must have been collecting for years. Lance breathed in awe as he tried to find space. Then his eyes landed on the perfect spot. Three shelves up, there was a blue plastic bottle, containing a long spindly ghost that resembled an eel. A couple of dried flowers fell on the wood next to it and there was a decent gap between it and the next jar which contained a pearly coloured, jelly-fish type.

“Got it.” He announced, pointing to the space. Keith gave him a nod of approval before passing the jar containing Lance two over. Lance took it in both hands, taking a steadying breath. Okay Lance Two, he thought, time to meet your new home. Then he reached up. The jar clattered against the shelf below. Lance wasn’t quite tall enough. He stepped back with a huff, glaring at the wood. It was not going to win today. So, he stretched up to his limit once again, grabbing onto the shelf for balance. Attempting to haul himself up, he didn’t quite get the boost he’d hoped for. Instead, the wood flipped upwards.

Lance stumbled back with a yelp. The world tumbled around him, shining objects flying. The sound of shattering glass filled the room as white wisps tore through the air above him like shooting stars. He let out a screech. The ghosts! They were escaping!

Lance scrambled to sit back up. Above him, the shelf was empty. The desk around him was covered in tiny shards like diamonds. And most importantly, there were no whooshy wisps. Lance felt his eyes turn into pools. He looked to Keith who stared back open mouthed. Lance’s eyes overflowed. His throat felt tight and he let out a sob, burying himself in his hands. He’d let the ghosts escape.

“Are you okay?” Keith asked, carefully tiptoeing closer. “You want me to get my dad? He’s a firefighter ya know.”

Lance shook his head, scraping at his cheeks.

“m’not hurt.” He said, hiccupping as the emotion jumped up his throat. “It’s just- all your hard work.”

The tears spilled once again, and he was sobbing hard into his palms. Keith’s beautiful collection. He’d ruined it.

“It’s okay.” Keith said, landing at his side. He reached out to pat Lance’s arm and Lance finally looked up.

“It’s okay?” He asked, shoving his sleeve against his nose and staring up at the boy’s dark features.

“Mmhmm.” Keith hummed, giving him an encouraging smile. “We can just start again.”

Lance blinked against the tears, watching as Keith reached his hand out. “Together.”

Lance felt is cheeks pinch near painfully. Together. They could collect them together. He rubbed his knuckle against his eye one last time, relief flushing out the tears. Then he took Keith’s hand, squeezing the warmth as he got to his feet.

“Together.”